Hulk's
by Halfway To Reality
Summary: After the war harry had a few startling revelations left. A soul mate just happened to be one of them. (currently rewriting. If you have started reading this already and see the new chapters please don't read until given the all clear. I don't want you reading a jumbled mix up instead of a story.)
1. Prologe

His feet pounded into the dirt of the village path as his breath blew out in heavy pants. But even as his breath left his body he didn't stop mentally berating himself.

 _You knew they would catch up if you stayed._

He pushed his bare feet harder against packed dirt of the village trails, desperate for even the tiny boost in speed it might give him.

 _You knew and you stayed anyway like an idiot. This isn't like convincing yourself that eating instant ramen for every meal won't make you sick._

The dread in his abdomen grew as it feasted on the panic and resigned pain that tugged at the aching chasm of his dust filled lungs.

 _There are lives at stake here_

His feet skidded under him kicking a cloud of dust onto the wall of a nearby hut as he tried to turn without losing speed. His arms flailed out around him in a desperate bid for balance.

 _Lives other than yours_

The building tears that grew at the corners of his eyes were quickly absorbed into the streaks of drying mud caked on his face.

He had been welcomed here for the good he could do. His minimal knowledge of medicine more than enough for these people who had seen so little of it in their lives. He had better control now, and with no hulk sightings he thought _foolishly_ that those chasing him wouldn't find him, but he was wrong, so _so wrong._

 _And now they are going to pay for you. Their homes will be ransacked and broken for even a hint of where you will go._

He choked a little on his next breath as his vision blurred and he prayed, payed to anyone listening that the kind people he had gotten so close to in the few weeks he had been in this tiny village would be able to come back to their homes and complain about the audacity of foreigners.

Prayed that they would make it through this experience.

Tears finally rolled down Bruce's cheeks as he heard the screams of his once neighbors, saw the smoke curl off thatched roofs as they burned.

The beeping of Bruce's heart monitor was dangerously fast but he couldn't stop running. He learned at much too dear a cost that running away was the best way he could help these people.

So he ran; he ran from his past, He ran from his future, He ran from his love, He ran from his life. He ran down the back alley, speeding unnaturally quickly away from the khaki colored men chasing him.

What else could he do?

Bruce burst out of the alley and into the market street, and froze, eyes widening with desperate disbelief. They had cut him off.

 _No_

He was surrounded. The grief in his stomach tore leaving him a husk of empty tendrils.

 _NO_

The resounding crack of the gunshots silenced the world for a few scant moments before the roar of terror incarnate shattered them brutally.


	2. Chapter 1

His life had changed drastically after the war.

After the war, but barely after the rebuilding had really begun. The physical rebuilding hadn't taken nearly as long as they thought it would. The only really large battles having taken place in public with few damages that couldn't be fixed by a repairing charms, and those that were could be fixed by more extensive repair magics. Hogwarts was the only big loss. With the magic so entwined with the physical building itself the repair efforts become more of a healing effort.

In fact one ambitious young ravenclaw had come up with the ingenious idea to use actual healing magic on the ruins, and to the joy of onlookers opened a new avenue of artifact and landmark conservation.

Unfortunately the daily prophet had suffered no property damage at all, and articles with the latest news on the fighters of "The Battle of Hogwarts" began showing themselves barely a week after the last cobblestone had been returned to its bed.

It wasn't long after that when the next edition of Potterwatch: The Savior was released to the masses.

It didn't seem to matter to these people that living people had lost loved ones. Didn't even cross their minds to write anything on any treatments being supplied for those who had been injured to the point of disability.

To them Harry Potter savior of them all was the only news worth reporting.

If you called him bitter you would be right. Harry had always hated being in the spotlight, whether it was an after effect of his life with the Dursley's or the pain he had been put through during his Hogwarts career he didn't know.

He hated it now more than ever.

He hated it because it wasn't deserved.

When he was young and accused of being the prince of slytherin or during the triwizard tournament he could understand the attention given to him. Could understand the strange idea of his life being news.

But now...

Now it made no sense.

He had fought, that much was true, but so had others. Others who had died for that fight. Other who deserved to be honored. Whose story should be told.

He could understand wanted to know his story but to be so focussed on just him that no mention of how to get help was even included in the paper at all. It was ridiculous.

When the time came he didn't go to Fred's funeral. He didn't want to taint Fred's memory with the fan girls and camera flashes that were sure to accompany him every time he stepped out the door now that Potterwatch had spread to every news group who wanted to sell.

It was supposed to be about Fred not Harry Potter. Fred had fought and given his life in the war. Had given it in no way willingly, but he had done it for his family. His family who had lost a son, a brother, _a twin._ He couldn't even think of how that would feel.

But look, Harry Potter is wearing the new muggle style pants from Gladrags they must the best invention, how could we have never tried them before. He had never even heard of Gladrags.

Why couldn't they just have time to grieve.

Instead he waited on the front stoop of the burrow for the Weasley's to return from Fred's ceremony. He refused to wait inside without first being invited. He couldn't just walk in after sequestering himself alone for so long.

Ron was the first to see him as the dragged up the walk slow enough to stay near the quietly crying Molly. At first His long time friend had simply stared into his eyes, Ron judging and Harry being judged silently. Red crept up the sides of Ron's neck like a strangling vine, curling up the curve of his ears.

He screamed and launched himself at Harry. Accusing him _'are we not good enough now? Is the great and mighty Harry Potter too great to come to one lousy funeral?'_ The pain, no the anguish that seemed to melt his face of the ability to form any expression but grief was unbearable.

Harry could only lay there. He let Ron punch him knowing the man was grieving, and rightfully so. Knowing that the heartache he felt at the loss of life was a dull pain compared to the large hearted man struggling not to fall apart above him. Knowing that his friend didn't truly hate him, there was just too much emotion inside of him squeezed in a too small bottle, and if he didn't let it out somehow he would explode. Ron had never been good at dealing with his emotions. He had always felt too much, too deeply.

Ron was crying by the time George and Bill managed to drag him away from a gradually bruising Harry. Molly was screeching at him in true house mother fashion _'that is no way to treat a guest Ronald. I'm sure Harry was busy and unable to come. Don't you see how much good he does!'_ but Harry could see the contradiction in Molly's face. The room was quickly silenced though when George stepped forward to stand in front of Harry's crouched form.

George thanked him.

He thanked Harry for not attending his twin brother's funeral, because he understood. George thanked Harry for thinking of Fred's memory, and then he hugged him. Neither of them were strong enough to hold back the tears. Soon the whole family was crying.

The two embracing men had quickly become a pile of whimpers and watering eyes. They cried for hours sitting out in the garden. Molly was running around the kitchen, busying herself trying to supply comfort foods. It was a familiar action and seemed to soothe the despairing mother's nerves.

It was almost the morning when Ron apologized and was easily forgiven. The hodgepodge family laughed as they shared stories of the fallen, the bright emotions they usually brought dulled by the melancholy memory of their death. This was their time to grieve.


	3. Chapter 2

It was only when news of Draco Malfoy's pending trial that managed to rouse Harry and the world, if the papers were to be believed, from his grief long enough to leave the burrow.

He proclaimed Draco innocent. Testifying before the courts of both Draco and Narcissa trials of their coerced participation in the battle. He provided memories to prove stories of fights and planning, to show how Snape had killed Dumbledore, even going so far as to hand over one of Snape's memories of Dumbledore requesting he kill him in the young Malfoy's stead.

In the end, it proved to be just enough. Draco and his mother were placed on house arrest until further notice, and tracker bracelets were attached to their legs. It wasn't until he met Draco face to face outside the foreboding courtroom doors that Harry felt it.

 _Safe, welcome, guardian, safe, protected, safe, safe safe safe safe._

It was weak, barely a compulsion, but it seemed to pour from Draco. Draco felt it too. Or at least he felt something.

Draco calmly walked up to Harry before asking softly if he would join him for tea. His tone of voice soft with the melancholy of one sympathizing with a friend in shock.

Harry, extremities tingling, had quickly glanced at the surrounding press and nodded quickly with a small smile before loudly accepting Malfoy's thanks.

When Harry had first entered the temporary home of the heir and Lady Malfoy he was surprised by its warmth. The immediate explanation he received from his boyhood rival upon entering his sitting room quickly doused that feeling.

Malfoy was part light veela, and as his inherited heritage was too small he wasn't sure exactly how dominant he was among creatures, but it was enough to tell something was wrong with Harry.

As thanks for his testimony the young man offered to help Harry uncover what was wrong. Though if asked the Malfoy would quickly and easily state that he was only trying to make plans to prevent his immediate death from boredom on house arrest. You see there were only so many things one could do within a house this size.

Together they found that Harry was part dark Veela, a large part in fact. A worryingly large part.

Directly after proving that their hypothesis were true Draco grabbed Harry's arm, and burst through the anti-apparition wards his auror guard had set to rush him to Gringotts.

Upon his sudden arrival, in which he splinched the entire back end of his overcoat, he demanded the use of a ritual room all the while dragging a gagging Harry behind him.

To Harry's addled mind the next few hours were a mix of unpleasant tastes, the very unsettling feeling of his organs being rearranged into their rightful places, and a thoroughly blood chilling speech given to him by a goblin with the longest fangs he had yet to see. He didn't care what Draco said they were fangs no teeth. Teeth were not shaped like needles.

A few less invasive procedures, provided by a brood of goblin mages, proved Draco's panic to be well deserved. Harry was _at least_ Half-Veela and he had yet to go through his creature inheritance. The time in which all part creature magicals gained access to their creature heritage, and usually some of said creature's traits.

A few more long hours of waiting in a room made to reduce the amount of ambient chaotic magic and a few medically applied Legilimens they found evidence of magical scarring on Harry's core. Conveniently placed at just the right point in his core that it blocked any ambient magic from entering. Including the ambient magic that all magicals while creature inheritance absorbed to power their growth and adaptation into their new body and instincts.

Draco, horrified, had promptly fainted. Shocking Harry significantly.

When he awoke Draco explained to an oblivious Harry the design of a wizard's magical core. Knowledge that Hermione would later study extensively and then publish a small handbook she created to given to all muggleborn or raised students of Hogwarts and many other magical schools.

Wizards are born with the ability to manipulate magic, something in their body being able to recognise and manipulate the energy, but they can only affect a certain amount of magic at a time. The amount of magic they can effect is generally known as their core. They use the magic in their core to fuel their spells, and fill said core by absorbing the ambient magic around them. That was one of the reasons why muggleborns were thought of as freakish in some pureblood societies. They were not raised around large quantities of magic, and thus had no way to grow their cores during their childhood. At least until they came to Hogwarts or one of the other magical communities.

Harry had been completely blocked from the ambient magic around them and as such should have become a squib the moment he used his core for the first time. Unless his core was 'truly so freakishly large that he had been using Reserve magic all this time' as Draco had put it.

Consequently, Draco threw himself into the Malfoy libraries, as well as Harry's thoughts, desperately trying to find some other explanation. All he found was more proof their theory was true. At last he had confessed to Harry that if they were correct, and Harry had been using reserve magic for his entire life, then he was the most powerful wizard to ever exist. Beyond even Merlin.

What troubled Draco was, even after the Horcrux was removed, Harry's core wasn't refilling.

They studied more on their own, reading as many books as they could get their hands on and consulting the goblins at length until one day they happened across, completely by accident, the diary of a young man in a similar position. His father had been one of the more eccentric purebloods, and had rather preferred his son be a squib than a part-creature. So he had blocked his son's core much like Harry's had been.

Through this book they found a goblin ritual used to reconnect someone with their creature counterpart. Traditionally used on part-creature emissaries with weak creature blood, the ritual also worked to free this young man of the horrors he had suffered under the pain of his magical scarring. That it had also enhanced the power of his creature blood was noted as a sharp metaphorical spit in the eye to the young man's father.

Harry immediately left for Gringotts.

The ritual was painful and horrid, but to Harry the result was well worth it. He had grown two inches from his previously malnutritioned frame, his hair darkened till it match the onyx walls of the ritual chamber, but the most amazing feature by far was the wings.

Harry had grown two beautiful wings half a hand below his shoulder blades. Gringotts gifted him a few books on Dark Veela in exchange for the return of the sword of Gryffindor, and sent him on his way with a polite goodbye and the sum of his vaults.

Together he and Draco had learned that all they could about dark Veela. Including that unlike their lighter cousins Dark veela could keep their wings no matter their form. This had sparked some rather heated debate between the two about the authenticity of Harry's performance on the Quidditch pitch all those years ago. So heated in fact that the two young men were headed out to the small field behind the malfoy residence to settle it when Narcissa's voice had called clearly from across the house.

"Draco dear, just because you can only change your hands does not mean you are in any way inferior to Potter. In fact you should be proud darling. It is a sign of you purer blood."

A few short and quiet comments from the younger Malfoy and it was agreed to never mention the moment was again. They still played a short seekers game though.

Harry won.

* * *

It was a few days later when Harry started to express the instincts that were promised to come with every creature inheritance. The younger Malfoy had found the smaller ones quite amusing to the dismay of Harry, until one day Harry positively broke down. This also just so happened to be the day that they discovered that Harry was without a doubt submissive.

 _All dark Veela are born with a destined mate. While there are many hypotheses on how exactly these bonds are created it is popularly believed that the bonds are created during the gestation of the two or more bonded, though the dynamic of the bonds themselves seem to be adaptable as concluded in the prestigious research of professor Richard P. Varhs..._

Unable to even place the rather old and brittle books down on the table he had been sitting at a moment previous Harry and lept from the floor, wings fully extended, and flown around the room for hours; book grasped tightly in hand, singing all long and joyful notes all the while. Once the hormones stopped throwing him for a spin, no really it was like puberty all over again, Harry found that he was actually rather pleased with the idea that he had someone out there just for him. In time he realized he was quite content to be the submissive as well. He didn't want to have to watch out for anyone anymore. He wanted to be taken care of. He wanted a guardian. A friend. Someone who would care for _him,_ not Harry Potter.

And now he had a chance at that.

Together Draco and Harry trained to better understand their other sides.

When the rest of the world found out, inevitably due to a rather annoying animagus. Harry ran. He and Draco kept in contact, Harry's other friends occasionally sending him packages through his"Veela family" as Ron had taken to referring to the Malfoys, while Draco sent him supplies.

Harry traveled the world looking for that one person. _His mate_


	4. Chapter 3

_Dear Harry,_

 _I hope this missive finds you well. Your godson has been eager to share the tales of his latest school exploits and so you will find a short letter from him enclosed. Astoria has been well as of late and wishes me to give you her regards. Granger and The Weasel have just had their second child. I have been told it was a girl this time and in true Weasley fashion The Weasel is already planning for another. I do not currently know the name they have chosen, but am willing to enquire if you wish. I may even be able to acquire a photograph to send._

 _The Holyhead Harpies have won the Quidditch World Cup, and to the utter dismay of the Weasel's purse, the Weaslette flew quite well. My young cousin is increasingly enamored with the sport has been asking anyone within hearing range for stories of our childhood quidditch exploits. His most recent addition to his "proper quidditch attire" is a flashing array of hair that switches color depending on which team leads at the time. I have yet to discourage it as he tends to walk around with that awful clutter you consider well-kept if I do. The boys miss you dearly and having asking for more pictures of your travels, as well as your latest "traditional" appearance._

 _The properties you left in my care upon your departure have all been thoroughly cleaned and sorted, with a new team of house elves assigned to each. The repairs to Potter Manor are progressing smoothly. The Goblins are charging their usually substantial price, and as such are doing excellent work. It is my belief that it will be habitable by the time you return from your travels._

 _At the behest of Scorpius, I request that upon your return you would endeavor to teach my son the dying art of flight. Your godson has taken to filling his head with delusional fictions of your triumph on the pitch during our school years. Delusions that I will take pride in crushing. If you have continued on the route you conveyed in your last correspondence your current climate has a history of magical disease, though I would not put it beyond you to contract a muggle illness. I have thought to include a few vaccinations for the more gruesome ones._

 _As ever awaiting your reply,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

 _The Ferret King._

Harry had trouble keeping the grin that rose from his heart from blooming on his face as he reread Draco's letter. Even after all of the 'Inheritance training' they had gone through together, Draco preferred to keep the anonymity of their childhood rivalry between them. Only rarely allowing the façade to drop and a small amount of true affection to seep through the severe curves of his writing.

Harry was currently in a small village on the border of India and Afghanistan. The first place he visited in his travels was Japan where he stayed for two months studying the local magical cultures. Unlike British wizards, who tend to stick to wands and Latin spells as conduits, the Japanese have a wide variety of magical conduits. Ninja tied their magic into their bodies and Chakra to make them physically better at every task they attempt. Swordsmen would imbue their weapon with their power to make it stronger and less likely to break. Monks pushed their magical cores outside their bodies to control the elements around them. Though the thing Harry loved above all was the reverence magical citizens treated magical creatures or those with creature blood. During his time there Harry grew to appreciate his new appearance. He even found a settlement of Tengu who, as the closest relative to Dark Veela in the region, took it upon themselves to teach him how to care for his new body. He had shared a room with another submissive male named Aki.

Aki had taught him as much as he could during Harry's brief stay. Their lessons included everything from how to polish and charm shed feathers, to how to best catch the light. Aki had said _'as the submissive you must learn how to be the most caring, the most cunning, the most helpful, and the most beautiful in order to bring your mate honor'_ after which he had promptly given Harry another lesson on makeup and correct clothing for different occasions. By the time Harry left the Tengu, Aki had compromised with Harry that long hair would be an adequate bargain for no makeup. As a parting gift Aki gave Harry a set of five jade hair ornaments with protective charms, then sent him on his way. Harry left Japan one week later. It was one of the few places in his travels Harry was able to openly embrace his heritage, and it pained him to leave. But his mate was not there.

So he moved on to China. There he learned seal magic and stone carving. Both things useful for wards, curse-breaking and long distance communication. After Hedwig died Harry refused to buy another owl. Learning how to carve a magical seal that, once printed on the back of a parchment, would transport itself to the intended recipient was a much needed blessing. From then on Draco would send Harry letters with his eagle owl, and Harry would send letters back using seals. Though there were loads more skills to learn, Harry left china relatively quickly. It felt much too crowded, and sometimes in alleys or shadows Harry would feel something... bad. So he left for Australia.

As Australia's magical population was mostly British, Harry didn't much in the way of spells. Instead he visited with small groups of indigenous people who taught him how to truly feel every aspect of his core. He learned how to feel the auras around him and read the emotions that traveled with them. It wasn't as informative as Legilimency, but it was less invasive. He also learned how to manage his long hair in a more torrid environment. This skill, along with the colder cooling charms he learned, came in handy along the rest of his journey.

From Australia Harry traveled to Africa. Traversing wild jungle and visiting tribes. A few of the tribes he stayed with came from magical origins. From them he learned how to sense the magic of plants and animals. They showed him how to use this skill to communicate with the local predators, how to ask the forest for water. They also showed him how to talk with ones 'inner animal'. At first Harry had thought they were talking about his animagus form, and with the language barrier between them they had trouble correcting him. Finally they gave up trying to tell him and decided to show him. They woke him before the sun rose to make him participate in a ritual all young members of the tribe undertook. It showed them their inner animals. The instincts they gained from their creature ancestors. It was then that he learned that this tribe was descended from a now extinct magical species that he could only be describe as a burning lion. With his interest spiked Harry had pushed to learn more rituals of 'the Pride'. He learned rituals to bring rain, and another for clearer sight. He learned a ritual to speed the growth of crops and fertility. At the behest of his ritual enhanced instincts he had hurried to write down the fertility ritual moment he had returned to his tent. Though it still embarrassed him to think of it.

When he left 'The Pride' he had used the combined skills of the many cultures he had visited to make his way through the jungle. At one point he found a wild Nundus Pride. When he first saw them he was so shocked that by the time he snapped out of it, the Nundus had already spotted him. Thinking fast he had pushed his aura to be that of a lost cub, and was quickly adopted by the head female. By studying the Nundus Harry learned to sense and influence the ambient magic around him. He used this skill to scare away non-magical predators and people who could not feel auras. He had actually met quite a few muggles who could feel auras during his time in china. He avoided them with great care. They always felt... just... wrong.

After leaving the Nundus it took Harry another five months to work his way up the continent and reach the Middle East. And now here he sat, grinning despite himself, just outside a little market on yet another border.

Surrendering to the urge to smile, Harry flipped through the multiple parchments tied to Draco's envelope. He would read Teddy's letter once he reached his tent. He could barely contain the excitement he felt.

As both Teddy's and Draco's birthdays were approaching he had bought them a few gifts from the many markets he had visited. It was understandably easier to shop for his godson then Draco. Even after all the fees the ministry had charged the Malfoy family with, they still had a rather impressive estate. Draco would accept nothing less than perfect for his present. Or at least ridiculously expensive. Yes Teddy was much easier.

For teddy harry had bought; three talismans of protection, one anti-sprint ward small enough to fit on a broom, a stone letter seal (which he had carved himself), one shrunken head (he made sure this one didn't talk), a tail from a two-tailed Mardük (freely donated from a pride he had met in the safari), and a medium sized bundle of sugarcane. All things he knew he would have loved while at Hogwarts.

For Draco he had only found three presents he thought Draco would like. The other tail from the two-tailed which, like the one he was giving Teddy, was charmed with pack magic to keep it fresh without altering its properties. A seal that once applied to a parchment only the intended reader would be able to see it. But the gift he thought Draco would truly appreciate was the large swath of freely given Nundu fur. Which due to the aggressive nature of Nundus was practically impossible to get. Harry only worry about that gift was how he would top it next year.

Harry stood from the cart were he had stopped to read Draco's letter. He arched backward to crack his back. Glancing around he took down the notice-me-not and Muffliato he had cast around himself, and left the bustling market.

Unlike the local villagers Harry had long ago forsaken his shoes. He had learned to go without them while with the pride as part of his training and now it felt strange to not feel the earth beneath him. Even the partially cobble stone roads of the village felt different to him. So far this was the only village he had stopped in that was large enough to have stone roads. All of the previous ones had beaten dirt paths that would leave dust clouds in a person's wake on dry days.

A similar path lead from the village to the patch of forest were Harry had set up his tent. Harry sighed when he reached it. Taking a moment to dig his toes into the dirt before setting off again. The weather was nice for the area. Not burning hot but definitely hot enough to keep you sweating. For what was probably the billionth time since he left England Harry thanked Merlin for cooling charms. They allowed him to enjoy the sunshine around him without dying of dehydration.

Especially with his now waist length hair. He would have cut it, but something inside him kept saying his mate might like long hair. And it was always easier to cut it then grow it out. Even if the hair products to keep it untangled were expensive he could afford them. Smiling he reached up run his hands between the braids he kept his hair in. The braids which combined with his dark tan and emerald eyes had him mistakes for a woman more than once.

Smile waning, Harry let go of the loose lock and twisted the scarf over his hair tighter. He was not a woman. He was a submissive. Yes, he could have children and bottomed during sex but submissive was different than woman. He had met female dominants during his time with the Tengu. They had taught him that.

Seeing as most of the men who approached him were muggle he ignored them as much as possible. Tucking the still loose braid behind his ear Harry sped up his walk.

The excitement from Draco's letter had faded. The ache in his chest, were his meting body would someday be, throbbed. Seventeen months 24 days and 15 hours. Still no sign of his mate. He sighed again, though this one had more dispirited origins.

* * *

The night sounds of the forest had always served to soothe Harry. Now was no different, and the chirps and crackles of the nightlife helped alleviate some of the ache from Harry's chest. So he sat alone outside of his tent and listened.

Over the last few months this had become almost ritualistic to him. Get home, cook dinner, wash himself, comb out his braids, and sit outside for an hour just listening before retiring for the night.

There wasn't as much noise as there had been in the jungle. There he had heard monkeys calling to their young. He had heard the jungle cats acknowledging other predators and screaming loudly 'my territory. Stay away'. He had listened in on the anaconda gossip with the bushmasters. No matter where he had traveled he hadn't been alone.

Here he could hear a group of Yellow-throated marten chattering over something or another. A Eurasian lynx was stalking a lone Kashmir stag.

Over to his left there was a Marmot whistling in alarm before it abruptly cut short with a resounding Crash.

Harry stiffened.

As did the wildlife around his camp. No sound was heard besides the growing thump Thump THUMP of whatever creature had killed the Marmot. Whatever it was it had to be huge. The first to flee was the Kashmir stag. It was quickly followed by the Yellow-throated martens.

The lynx seemed to ponder staying for a moment, before it too fled.

Harry didn't move.

He couldn't move. He wanted to move. In fact he wanted to grab his tent, douse the small fire, and fly as far as he could. But at the same time he wanted to run right at the loud interloper.

Fighting both sets of instincts Harry managed to hold himself in the tense position he had taken.

The sound was getting louder. Which meant the interloper was getting closer. Harry's instinct to run at the thing surged and he couldn't stop the keen that broke through his effort to stay still.

The sound seemed to hesitate for a moment before it changed course and advanced towards him.

The trees surrounding his campsite shuddered. The glamour over his wings and face fell. Still the noise grew closer, and still Harry fought not to move. It was getting harder as his instinct to run away grew weaker.

The last trees between himself and the loud body fell away.

Slowly as to not break his concentration, Harry turned. The sight that met his gaze was larger than he had imagined. He had to strain his neck backwards just to see his face. The eyes that met his were worth the ache though.

The echoing rumble of "Mine" proved too much for Harry.

With a feverish trill Harry threw himself at the creature.

'His'


	5. Chapter 4

Bruce was used to waking the morning after his transformations to a steady ache in his bones and a pounding in his head.

He was used to being alone in the wilderness somewhere without any resources.

He was used to having to make makeshift clothing from whatever scraps were left of his previous garments.

He was not used to waking up comfortable and warm with a hazy satisfaction weighing on his limbs. So when he woke to that very situation it took him a few moments to realize he was in a bed. A warm bed. A soft warm bed. Or at least it felt like a bed.

When Bruce lifted himself onto his elbows to check he noticed he was in a campsite, laying on the softest black blanket he had ever felt. He dug his hand into the long fibers of the blanket savoring the feel of them across his skin. Had someone covered him in this while he slept?

Lifting his head again to check the rest of the campsite he noticed something that dropped in his gut like a boulder.

He was still naked. Which wouldn't have bothered him nearly as much if it weren't for the itching of crusted _something_ on his thighs and the smaller body lying at his side.

A body with long, soft ebony hair splayed over even softer curves. A body who he remembered caressing reverently.

A body with a larger than should be possible hand shaped bruise forming on their hip.

 _'oh god what have I done'_

He couldn't help but scramble to his feet and away from the stranger he had... oh god he couldn't even think it. He wanted to puke. Actually he was going to puke.

He spun on the spot stumbling over roots and branches as he ran away from his latest depravity.

He had been running for fifteen minutes straight when he heard the most heart wrenching cry to ever be heard. It sounded like the life was being forcefully dragged, kicking and screaming but unable to fight, from the crier's throat.

 _'Oh God'_

* * *

 _Hands slowly caressed down his sides calling a lazy smile to his lips. Harry opened one eye to see the hazy form of his mate curving over him smirking, their hands never stopping their lazy movement across his skin. The grass beneath their serene forms was lush with fresh growth. They rested in the shade of an old willow tree. The breeze blew softly across their bodies to cool the rays of the jubilant sun._

 _The hands that had previously rested on his hips drew a path up to his face. Finding a resting place on his jaw. His Mate's thumb brushed up and across his lips and the smile they held. His mate drew closer until their foreheads were touching._

 _A blissful hum built in Harry's chest as they rested together. It was a chorus similar to the song of a reborn phoenix. In it was the wish and promise of steady home. A place where they could stay together in peace. A place where they would start their family. A place where..._

horror tore through Harry's dream. He woke with a start. His hands automatically patting empty ground in search of his distraught mate. But his mate wasn't there.

He was gone. _TAKEN! SOMEONE TOOK HIM._

A quick probe of the ambient magic around him dissuaded him of that notion.

 _Horror Fear Guilt Horror Disgust Fear Guilt_

The emotions left by his rapidly fleeing mate roiled Harry's insides. His mate didn't want him.

His mate was so horrified by him that he ran. He wasn't what his mate wanted.

His mate, his _soul-mate_ didn't want him.

His other half was _disgusted. By. him._

Harry couldn't stop the whimpers coming from his mouth, he wasn't even aware of their escape. His focus was on the abyss steadily growing in his chest. An abyss that was threatening to consume the already checked connection to his mate.

The mate who had left him, had run from him.

The mate who didn't want him.

His whimpers quickly progressed to panted keens as he scrambled across the campground in desperation, barely managing to falter to his knees.

He couldn't chase the thoughts from his head. He had just _found_ his mate, and now he was gone!

What was wrong with him? What was so defective about him that his own soul-mate, the person who was supposed to love him _unconditionally,_ would flee from him in disgust. Was it his eyes? They _were_ a disgusting color of green. The same color as that abhorrent curse. Or maybe it was just his face in general.

He hands reached up to touch his face. The same face that his mate had caressed so gently in his dream.

No maybe it was his magic. The old insecurity implanted in him by the Dursly's reared it head exultation. His magic had done something freakish while he slept. It had betrayed him.

His hands rose from their protective position around his midsection to stroke at his wings, unconsciously copying the actions his mate had performed the previous night.

Harry blinked.

Maybe? Maybe it was his wings. They _were_ abnormally large for a submissive. In fact they were abnormally large for a dominant, Draco had told him so. His mate hadn't wanted a mate with such big wings. They were hideous.

His breathing sped with each revolving thought that past through his distraught mind.

He could change. He would change for his mate.

He would change and then he would come back. His mate would want him if he was different. _'No he won't. Your mate will never want you. You are unworthy.'_ a voice viciously tears across Harry's consciousness.

NO! His mate had to want him, he could change. He would do anything for his mate. His mate was everything. Nothing else mattered.

Harry scrambled across the clearing almost slipping on the shirt he had shed last night and tearing a hole in the thigh of the trousers he was still wearing. Ripping the door practically in half in his desolation Harry shredded through his belongings looking for the international portkey Draco had given him in case of emergency.

 _This was an emergency!_

 _There!_ he snatched it from the small bag where he carried it.

Unable to hold back the utter anguish he felt harry screamed as he felt the familiar tug behind his navel.

 _'I will be back for you'_ was the last thought to cross his brain as his eyes closed and Draco's worried shouts faded from his ears.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce hiked his bag further up on his shoulders, his gaze never pausing in its task of checking for enemies. it had taken him quite a long time to be comfortable around people again, but even now he avoided women at all costs. Especially those with long, black hair.

For the past few months he been having these terrifying dreams. He could never really remember what happened, but he always woke feeling horrified. Dark hair brushing against his face, a smooth voice singing to him and dragging all his worries away, what looked like wings colored like the sky the night of the new moon, but the detail that always resounded in his mind was the anguished shriek that shattered the eutrophic feeling that cocooned him.

It had been a seemly endless torture to wake every morning stifling screams and panicked thrashing. An ongoing cycle that left him more and more drained each day. His temper had steadily grown until he had to stop healing. Not that he wanted to, it was the only way he had to give back to the world for his destruction, but he feared if he stayed around others for too much longer he would be stressed enough to change at the slightest irritation.

Until two weeks ago it had stopped.

The dreams themselves hadn't stopped, but shifted themes.

The first thing he had noticed as he looked around his dream the first night, was how vivid it was. He could feel the grass beneath his feet, and wriggle his toes into the dirt. The trees waved back and forth in the push of the breeze, while bugs chirped around him, making a soft cacophony of background noise. He had wandered through the vaguely familiar woods for what had seemed to be minutes and hours at the same time. He was startled by a giggle behind him, and when he swung around a beautiful sight greeted him. A small campsite with a warmly glowing fire in the center. Right beside the fire was the woman from his nightmares. She had smiled at him, and his feet moved to stand next to her of their own accord.

A soft hand pulled him to lay across her lap, where he had stayed as she sung to him in an unknown language and combed her fingers through his hair until he found himself slowly opening his eyes to sunlight.

Once Bruce realized what had happened he profusely thanked whatever deity took pity on him, and set out with his medicine bag.

The next dream was equally pleasant. He had, understandably, been worried that after that first dream his nights would return to nightmares. When he once again saw the emerald eyed beauty waiting for him in the clearing a weight he hadn't remembered gaining fled his shoulders.

Once again he laid across her lap as she sung to him in a strange tongue and combed her fingers through his hair. The fire crackled pleasantly in front of them while the night life chirped and creaked around them.

Bruce watched as the logs burned away, slowly crumbling under the weight of fresh logs when his companion added them. Their breathing was soft as they just leaned against each other, enjoying the ambient peace of the forest. Another log cracked and sizzled away

When the woman shifted to add wood to the fire for the fourth time, Bruce reached out and gripped a log before she could reach one. Throwing her an earnest, if still small smile, he added it to the growing pile of coals and ash. Flecks of soot floated up in the wake of the log.

When he shifted back to lay on her legs again the woman placed a hand on his arm. The look of concern and pain on her face startled Bruce. A warm feeling rose in his chest as she checked over the scratches on his hand. If he had been paying more attention at this moment Bruce would have realized that the scratches he bore were identical to the ones he had gained the morning previous scrambling in the forest while looking for some medicinal herbs to help his sore feet. As it was he was much too preoccupied examining his chest and the strange feeling within it.

He wasn't so preoccupied that he missed the mystery woman standing and walking over to a previously unnoticed bundle of bags and camping supplies. He watched as she sifted through what he guessed were her belongings looking for something he didn't know. Her hair drifted across her lithe frame as she searched, a frown drawing on her brow.

She was very beautiful. Her hair was so dark it reminded him of the night sky during the new moon, it was soft too. The texture pulled at something in his memory, but he could seem to place it. He only remembered that whatever substance shared this texture was tied strongly to emotions of longing and hope.

Bruce was so focused on pinning his elusive memory that he jumped when the woman plopped down in front of him. The woman stilled as he scrambled backwards across the fallen tree she had sat on earlier. She sighed, a gentle sadness flooding her eyes as she looked at him. Her eyes were a bright emerald green now misted with emotion.

Slowly Bruce's gaze swept downward from the woman's eyes to her outstretched arms. There, resting in her left hand, was a small open jar of ointment. Her right hand was slightly raised as if she was placating a wild animal or maybe a small toddler. That would certainly match how Bruce felt at this moment. A blush rushed unbidden to his cheeks, all signs of tension seeping from his muscles. He ducked his head before sitting up and smiling sheepishly at the first person in a long while to try to help him. Though if he thought about it, this strange woman had helped him in more than one way.

She was kind to him when no one else seemed to be. It didn't even occur to him that she might not know what he was, because of course she knew. It was there in her eyes. She knew his sadness, she knew his rage, she knew him, and accepted it all.

Still misty emerald eyes grew larger as the woman crept toward him, one hand still raised. Listed first her right foot, then her left over the fallen tree, she kneeled beside him. Achingly slow she lifted his arm, and gently, meticulously applied ointment to the scratches there. Leaning close to make sure she hadn't missed any the woman smiled, satisfied with her work. Pulling some bandages from thin air she wrapped each finger in the material. She was so focused in her work that her previous nervousness from startling Bruce faded as soon as she touched him.

At this distance it was easy to see how her nose scrunched up just enough to cause little wrinkles to form on the bridge. Her brows drew together in concentration and her eyes darkened slightly as if daring her hands to mess up. All in all, it was quite the endearing sight to Bruce. Especially because the thing she was focused so intently was Bruce, or rather healing Bruce.

He couldn't help but smile at her antics.

Sitting back on her heels she twitted slightly to retrieve the ointment she had put down earlier. When she turned back to face him Bruce lifted his other hand out to her without prompting. She blinked at it a few times before glancing at his shy expression apprehensively. Taint it as the subtle peace offering Bruce meant it to be she repeated her previous ministrations. Bruce was a shy man, but he readily admit that it felt amazing having someone care for him. It made butterflies flutter around in his chest and a hazy feeling mush his thoughts. Feelings that he usually didn't allow himself to feel after almost getting him caught once.

When the woman, though it felt rude to call her such Bruce didn't have another name to call her, finished treating his hands she smiled softly. Bruce distractedly noted that the ointment and bandages disappeared from her hands as she embraced him.

He was stiff at first, but quickly relaxed into her embrace.

They stayed that way until he woke with a soft beam of sunshine embracing his bedroll.

He had laid there just wallowing the ambient peace of his dream. The peace he had just been enjoying shattered instantly when he saw his hands.

The bandages were _still there._

At first Bruce had thought he had wrapped them late last night and simply forgotten about it in a sleepy haze. That theory was quickly disproven by a swift inventory of his limited medical supplies. Slowly Bruce cataloged other inconsistencies in his life. He randomly found a bundle of an herb he was sure he had run out of, people walking up to him handing him supplies they swore he had dropped, and every once in a while he felt strange pulls in his chest to go a certain direction.

Bruce quickly noticed that these urges would consistently lead him to better circumstances. one time he felt a tug so strong he had tripped right into an older woman. He had apologized profusely all the while silently hoping she wouldn't draw attention to them. The woman had simply smiled at him and stated she was trying to find someone to rent a small room in her house while her son was away for a week. Bruce hadn't believed his luck.

Thanks to the woman, who Bruce now knew was named Ijya, Bruce had easily earned a quite reputation as a healer among the village folk.

It was that same reputation that he used to navigate the slums of Calcutta.

Breaking free of his wandering thoughts Bruce glanced around. He was almost to the small hut he stayed in. Today had been tiring, illness had spread across the slush and Bruce had been called on to treat many. Just as, he was sure, he would be asked to do again tomorrow. Sighing he dumped his bag and medical kit on the only table within his small living quarters, barely peeling off his shirt and pants before slumping onto his bedroll.

At least he always had his dreams.


	7. Chapter 7

Brown eyes bore into emerald, a rare blink the only break in their contact. Neither participants of this strange contest had moved since Bruce had first noticed the other, seven minutes ago.

The bird was strange, definitely not a local species with the variegated black-blue plumage. the beak shape was wrong for a crow, or at least any crow Bruce had ever seen.

Sunlight filtered through the dried grass screens, lazily stroking the foreign bird frozen on his only piece of furniture. If he didn't know any better he would say there was writing on its feathers, but who would write on a bird in iridescent paint, who here could even afford paint?

But the strangest thing, out of all the strange things that had happened to him lately, was that held loosely in the bird's beak was a plastic covered package of medical supplies. From here he could see medical tape, Bandages, wound sanitizer, Ibuprofen, and if his eyes didn't deceive him a tiny bundle of Advil.

Bruce didn't know what to think.

It wasn't everyday you got medicine delivered to your house by bird.

Was this how all of his other mysterious 'gifts' had appeared? He wasn't exactly sure how a bird, even one as big as this one, would be able to carry an entire outfit of clothes seventeen miles into the jungle.

Judging by it's size and talon shape, he could make a learned guess that this was a carnivorous species. Though it didn't look like anything he had seen in this area.

Both participants of this impromptu staring contest remained frozen, the only movement in the hut being the slow rustle of feathers in the breeze.

Should he say something? No, no that would be ridiculous it was just a bird, it's not exactly like it could respond. Though if it was trained well enough to deliver packages, it may know voice commands? Did it have a collar, or the bird equivalent? What was the bird equivalent? a tag on it's leg, that's what he had seen scientist's do to birds on television. There was no tag on its leg his quick glance to make out.

Old questions bubbled into his conscious. Who would send him, a someone who moved around too much to make that much of a difference, medical supplies. They would, obviously, have to know he was a doctor, or a functioning stand in for one. But how did they find out where he was, he had covered quite a bit of ground since the supplies started mysteriously appearing, and yet they kept up with him even when the military couldn't, or he hoped they couldn't.

Could that be their motive, or was he just paranoid. Did they want something else from him, If their plan was to make him feel indebted enough to them he would bend to their will they could forget it, his stubbornness was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. If it was a government of some kind he could see them getting their hands on a trained predator bird of some unknown species. He could even see some of the more persistent ones breeding a new species just for this purpose.

His eyes narrowed involuntarily, he was so caught up in his thoughts he missed the bird lowering its body closer to the chair that served as its temporary perch, its wings spreading to ease any sudden take off it might need to make. He didn't want to leave, the shadows were already too close for him to stay comfortable in his sanity for much longer, leaving now, before he had his fill, would only make it worse.

Bruce was almost to the stop in his train of thought that would convince him to grab the bird, chain it to the bed, and run.

But before this situation could play out, a harried knock broke both beings from their worries.

"Ḍāktāra, āmi ḍāktāra praẏōjana. Ēṭā mariẏā karuna" a strained voice called, the Bengali almost too rushed for Bruce to understand under normal circumstances was indecipherable now. what made him leap from his palate to the door was the broken desperation from the other side.

The bird stilled, and in a most un-birdlike fashion, widened its already saucer shaped eyes. Ruffled feathers sorted themselves into a semblance of order, and clawed feet edged from side to side, in an almost human display of agitation. Crisp eyes wavered from Bruce to the unknown person as Bruce questioned the voice coming from the other side of the light wood door in broken Bengali.

"Āmi ḍāktāra praẏōjana. Āmāra mā asustha. Daẏā karē, samasta sēkhānē chuṭē gēlē!" the voice, obviously a child's now that it had slowed enough to be understandable, begged in a voice weak from exhaustion and dusty roads. Bruce, satisfied with the vague answer, it was the best he would get, opened the door. standing there was a boy of undefinable age covered in dust, and with dirt on his wrists and knees, he had most likely fallen in his rush to get here.

"Āmāra mā kamē gēchē. Āmarā kala yakhana sē uttara nā ēbaṁ sē kampanēra haẏa. Śiggira āsachi karuna" desperate slim fingers tugged at Bruce's arm, dark naïve eyes begging. begging for the life of their mother, the light of their home.

"Yadi āmi karatē pāri āmi sāhāyya karabē. Āmi āmāra ōṣudha pētē habē." replied as fast as he could form the words. spinning on his heel he threw on a loose shirt over his sleeping pants and, checking that his heart monitor was still in place, he turned to his small medicine cabinet to gather his rather meager supplies. Only to find the bird sitting on top of it, his travel bag packed and waiting in its beak.

It only gave him a second to freeze in shock, ice coursing down his spine, before it leapt at him. The sound emerging from his throat higher pitched than he would admit to anyone in the retelling of this story. His hands and left leg rose in defense of what could only be an attack, his hands going to protect the vulnerable areas of his head, but the bird merely landed on his shoulder.

For the second time that day brown eyes bore into emerald with a silent question, and swallowing bitter nerves, Bruce turned to the door.

"Take me to your mother. Cala yā'i"

* * *

Bruce was already sweating by the time his small entourage reached the home of the boy he now knew as Dax. The sun was higher than he originally thought.

It had been a week since Dax had come to his small home, pleading for his mother, and in that time the strange bird hadn't left Bruce's side. it had clung to him as he raced through busy streets after the desperate child, hoping to reach his mother in time. It had crooned softly in his ears as he panicked slightly at the sight of the not so young woman lying bereft on the dirt floor. even as he moved the woman to the thin palette he saw from the door he could hear the bird rustling through his supplies and placing what he would need next to him.

The children of local families had begun to call it Riya, which meant singer in Sanskrit. they said that until Bruce chose a name this would be the birds Daak naam, or nickname. The bird, Riya, seemed quite happy with his new name and would preen before the children's attention, trilling soft melodies that in encouragement to their giggling and fawning. Bruce himself never joined in on this behavior, but he would watch the children when he could, and had taken to carrying a small pouch of nuts, of which he didn't know the name, from a shop near Dax's house for the children to give Riya.

One particular trio of children had begun following Riya and himself throughout the city. They would wait at his doorway for him to leave his hut in the morning, and follow him until noon when Mira, the only girl of the group had to return to her home. they would wait outside the houses of those he would visit, or play simple games in the dirt roads. At first Mira had been very shy towards Bruce, he would find her sitting quietly with Riya on her shoulder nibbling on a strand of hair that had escaped her tight braid, or watching the boys as they fought over who truly won that game. Gradually she was opening up to him. her father was an American who had visited India for the culture, and stayed for her mother. sadly her mother had passed birthing her younger brother, who had survived without fault. her father taught her English, but she didn't have anyone to practice with as her friends had not begun learning it in school as of yet. instead she would quietly question him on Riya's habits, wanting to know more about the bird who helped the healer.

"How does it sing?" she had asked one day. this promptly opened an entire new pathway of conversation for the two, Bruce leading the inquisitive girl into the world of biology and anatomy.

The boys of the group were more interested in the trade of rumor. the elder one, Gaish, would walk proudly behind Bruce as if he were an escort. His eyes would judge passerby as if on the lookout for pickpockets or those hoping to pawn medical wares.

one day Gaish stepped forward as Bruce turned to call a tired looking Riya to his shoulder. His strange companion was becoming increasingly weary, Bruce was beginning to think it wasn't just a reaction to the harsh climate of the city. When he perched he would keep his eyes closed, and his feathers were beginning to thin. When he turned again to face the children Gaish was holding his medical bag, the look in his eyes a hidden sort of pleading, a need to be useful to someone he admired. it was a look Bruce remembered giving his teachers at school when his school life had worsened.

Without saying a word he had nodded to the boy, turned, and walked off towards his first patient of the day.

Now, two days after this practice had begun, it seemed natural to hand the boy his bag and set off. Even Riya seemed pleased at the action, the animal took great pleasure in making a great show of jumping off his shoulder and onto the child's. Though he usually only stayed there until the littlest began to pout. The littlest hadn't been named yet. It had come as a great shock the first time Bruce heard that in Bengali culture children were named when the right name was a picked, a practice that could talk all the way till the child's seventh year, sometimes longer. Gaish called him Babloo as his mother did, while Mira knew him as Chotku, which as far as he could gather meant something similar to shorty.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at his small entourage and smiled. Gaish was giving the little one another speech on the greatness of a man, and how important a doctor was.

"A doctor is not only one who can heal. they are a person who has honor enough to help those in a lesser state than himself. They are very important Babloo, remember that" Bruce knew that wasn't exactly what the boy said but the tone of sincerity and heartfelt regard gave the man pause.

The boy was one of the better off families in this area. He knew what it was like to go with little food, but his parents obviously had some kind of learning to pass on. He had never met the child's parents, he should probably do that if they were going to continue following him.

His eyes drifted to the bird on littlest shoulder, a frown etching itself on his features. Once glossy feathers were dulled and ragged, he had to flap twice as often simply to lift off the ground. No longer would he fly between Bruce's bag and his patient, ferrying supplies to him. Instead he would find a perch by the family of the ill, trilling softly in cool melodies. In the mornings Bruce often found himself regretfully waking his companion instead of waking himself to the heartening sound of his friends singing to the sunrise.

Something was obviously wrong, he just couldn't tell what. There weren't any veterinarians near here, and even if there were he wasn't sure he could afford to take the frail creature for a visit. He barely survived off the payments he got, and that was with the locals kindness.

Shooting a worried smile at his unlikely friend, Bruce shook himself from his stormy thoughts.


End file.
